Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 03] (25 page)

“Open your eyes, you rapist.”

Shocked, she opened her eyes to glare at him, her mouth open to defend herself—

He was naked. Golden and muscled, he stood mere inches from her, his chest flexed from pinning her hands, his rippling belly tight with tension, and lower still, his thick organ jutting proudly, aimed at her like an arrow in the bow.

Oh, yes. Skewer me. Please
.

She didn’t say it out loud. She had a little self-control, at least. Only the slightest hungry whimper betrayed her.

“What are you thinking?” His voice was low and husky.

She tore her eyes away from that magnificent stallion part and met his gaze somberly. “I’m thinking it might not fit,” she said seriously.

He dropped his head but not before she saw the white flash of his smile in the fire-glow. After a moment of helpless laughter, a moment she spent steaming silently, he lifted his head and gazed at her with something entirely new in his eyes.

Her heart nearly stopped. The light she saw there . . . it wasn’t affection or friendship or even lust. Her lonely soul rose to expand in pure joy. She knew that light.

She’d seen it in the mirror.

She felt the smile grow, the one she kept mostly to herself, the one that made everyone blink so oddly and stare at her. With Graham she could show herself. With Graham she needn’t fear anything at all.

Graham felt his breath leave him at the glory of her smile. She glowed, pinned there naked in his hands, her splendid hair adorning her nudity like a benediction. His stunning, magnificent Sophie.

His
.

Slowly, as if he feared to break a spell, he moved closer. Knee touched knee. Thigh pressed to thigh. His rigid cock nestled in the trim softness of her belly as if coming home at last. Her high breasts pressed to his hard chest, softly giving yet firm. At last, his lips met hers.

It was less a kiss than a promise.

Always
.

Always was. Always would be. Love without end. His fingers relaxed from her wrists. He slid his palms down over her arms, down to her shoulders to her neck, then cupped the delicate edge of her jaw as he kissed her more deeply.

Had any kiss ever filled him so? Had another woman’s mouth ever satisfied anything more than superficial lust?

He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t even remember being that man who totted up the women he’d seduced in a year to determine if it had been a good one. That fellow was nothing but a watery reflection, distorted and blurred, washed away by the love of the truest, most honest woman he had ever known.

Then she slid her cool fingers over him, from his shoulders, down his back, to cup his hard buttocks in urgent hands.

Desire, which had never cooled but only simmered, flared once more.

That’s when Graham realized the difference.

Passion was about the body, the senses and the skin and the pounding blood. Love was about something much less easy, much less simple. Love was seeing someone for exactly who they were—the strong and the weak, the fearless and the vulnerable, and knowing that the sum of it all, the total of the person, was worth more than all the passion in the world. To see the truth of someone, and have them see the truth of you—that was something more rare and beautiful than any simple affair.

Passion simply made the entire matter more exciting.

With a single motion, he swept her up into his arms and spun them both to land on the bed, naked and tangled and laughing out loud.

He went up on one elbow and found her face beneath all that hair, sweeping it back with one hand as he gazed into those infinite smoky eyes. “I’m marrying you tomorrow.”

She quirked a brow. “Why not tonight?”

He shook his head in wonder. “You’re always going to have the last word, aren’t you?”

She grinned. “Not always. I promise, once a year I shall let you have it.”

Ducking his head to nuzzle her into laughter, he breathed her in. “That’s all right. As long as I get the last kiss.”

She wrapped her fingers into his hair. “I find those terms acceptable, Your Grace.”

Then the giddiness turned golden and languid. He
kissed slowly down that long exquisite neck, following the arch of it to her breastbone, pressing his lips against the heart that thudded so close. Her breasts were small but ripe, her nipples straining upward in excitement as he brushed his lips over each of them once, twice, thrice.

She squirmed, so helplessly responsive that he resorted to pinning those writhing hips down with his hands cupped over each hipbone as he let his mouth travel onward, tasting the hollow between the arches of her ribcage, dipping his tongue into her navel, nibbling his way over the feminine swell of her taut belly until her legs churned restlessly.

He solved that by sliding between them and tossing her calves over his shoulders. The scent of her arousal rose sweet and exciting. He dipped his head and took a taste.

She yelped in surprise. “Graham!”

“I’m a shocking fellow, I know,” he said soothingly. “Now, let a man work.”

Sophie clapped her hands over her eyes in embarrassment. She knew a bit about mating from her life in the country, but she was certain this was not normal!

Then he slid his nimble tongue into the parting of her flesh and she forgot all about her shyness. He played her like a flute. His mouth was always in motion, always with skill and control. The wet slickness of his tongue, the sharp but gentle nip of his teeth, the soothing warmth of his lips and the rough abrasion of his beard combined to tease her damp, sensitive flesh
to a heated, swollen throbbing she’d never known before, not even in her own tentative exploration.

She dropped her hands from her face to drive her fingers into his thick hair, mindlessly urging him onward with animal whimpers of excitement. Hot dark pleasure swallowed her whole. Then he slid his hands from her hips and used his thumbs to part her lower lips. This time she didn’t quiver in mortification but only obliged by opening her thighs wider in willing surrender.
Please
.

His tongue found her most sensitive nub and gently rolled it, hot, wet and swollen, into his mouth.
Oh yes
. He sucked it softly, tenderly, flicking his tongue over the unprotected tip until she jolted in unison, shocking pleasure firing off more and more quickly until her body shook with huge tremors of unnerved ecstasy. She strained upward, tossing her head, crying out for something hot and bright and aching—

He slid one long finger deep into her, his sudden violation swift and perfect and
please, please, yes
—
!

Her hands flew out to grip the sheets, clenching them, holding on for dear life as the crashing wave of rapture overwhelmed her, tossing her high into the stars to fall madly, helplessly, wildly. She dimly heard her own keening but didn’t care. She was nothing but white-hot sensation—burning alive—the combustion of her willing, obedient flesh the only possible outcome.

So be it. She would gladly die at the hands of her lover, her love . . .

Yet her heart continued to pound and at last the
breath returned to her lungs. Her body still trembled, damp and quivering as she panted in confusion.

Graham returned to her and took her into his arms, holding her gently while the tremors racked her still. Suddenly shy, she buried her face in his chest and fought to catch her breath.

“What . . . was that?”

She felt rather than heard his understanding chuckle. “That was your first orgasm, I think.”

Rubbing her face into his hot skin, she moaned in embarrassment. “I think I made noise.”

“No, not at all,” he reassured her. “Not a peep. Silent as a mouse.”

She laughed at that. “A very large mouse. With friends. And all their tails caught in a trap!”

He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry. There’s no one here but us. You can trap as many mice as you like.”

“Do you—”

“Do I what?”

She rolled her forehead against the hard muscles of his chest. “Do you trap mice, as well?”

“Hmm.” He caught her chin in warm fingers and tipped her chin up to gaze into her eyes. “Not quite in the same way. Are you frightened?”

She blew out a breath, stirring the strands of hair that refused to stay out of her face. “I am not. You might recall whose idea this was.”

He smiled, but his eyes remained on hers. “I recall, dimly.” Then he sobered. “I want you desperately, but only if you’re ready.”

She traced the chiseled edge of his cheekbone with her fingertips. “I’m ready. No matter what.”

His eyes crinkled. “It isn’t a firing squad, Soph. It will only hurt for a moment, I promise.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, for goodness’ sake, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” She flung her arms above her head, offering herself. “Go on. Deflower me already.”

He laughed and moved to lie above her, his long legs between hers. “Your pillow talk could use some work.”

“What would you prefer? ‘Oh, pray be gentle with me, manly knight! I am but a simple country maid, pure and chaste, my limbs tied shut at the knees’—”

His brows rose. “That’s not precisely the attitude I would wish.”

She blushed, ashamed. “I’m nervous,” she whispered. “I sometimes wax sarcastic when I’m nervous. Or break things.”

He bent to kiss her softly, sweetly. “My darling, I want you to put your arms around me.”

She did so, slipping them over his broad shoulders, stroking the hard muscles there. Heat stirred within her.

He breathed warm into her ear. “Now wrap your lovely thighs around my hips.”

Trembling now in mingled anxiety and anticipation, she did so, gripping him with her ankles crossed behind his buttocks.

“Now kiss me,” he whispered. “Kiss me like you did against the door.”

That she could do, eagerly. She slid her hands into
his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. She threw everything in her heart into that kiss, releasing all fear, trusting him fully.

When his thick organ slowly began to press into her wet softness, she closed her eyes and forced back the instinct to fight the pain. Instead, she concentrated on welcoming him, loving him inside her, granting him the entry to her body she’d already given him to her heart.

Rigid and solid and relentless, his erection pierced her slowly until she couldn’t bear it. She tossed her head from side to side, lost in gasping pleasure-pain, the moment endless, his length and width devastating her even as it stretched and defined her.

At last he stopped, holding himself above her on his elbows, his head down, his breath coming fast as he held on, waiting for her. She began to fight the stretching pain that wouldn’t end, writhing beneath him, trying to ease the sensation that she might tear in two and die, impaled upon his massive fleshy spear.

“Oh, hell,” he groaned. “Oh, Sophie, be still, please—”

She couldn’t. It was too much, too thick, too deep. She clung to him with her arms and legs tight and squirmed, panting in pain and aching pleasure, unable to take him, unable to let him go.

He was gasping. “Sophie, please—let me go!”

“No!” she cried, and held on with all her might. “I need—I have to—”

With a roar, he pulled away from her, his desperate strength too much. Then he was back, driving into her
powerfully, fully, hard and fast. Something gave, sending a fiery bolt of agony through her. She shrieked, but still clung to him.

Then it was gone. He’d torn through the last resistance. Now it was only pleasure, slick and sweet and darkly hot as he drove helplessly into her again and again, his male growls of untrammeled lust drowning out her own trilling sighs.

His dominance and his heat and his very loss of control thrilled her. She exulted in her feminine power to excite him, in being beautiful and desirable to him. Each hot, powerful thrust and each dragging, exquisite withdrawal swept her away with tidal strength.

He cried out her name when he sank into her one last time, his orgasm ripping the breath from him.

It was only too bad it was the wrong name.

She ignored that flicker of pain, reaching instead for the pleasure of his release throbbing inside her. Ecstasy spiked again, mingling her cries with his groans, melding their hot breath and pounding hearts until she could not tell where she ended and where he began.

It was absolutely perfect. Though the manor might be crumbling about them, it might as well have been heaven.

He fell upon her then, dropping his face into her hair, easing himself to one side as his fading erection slipped from her body. She whimpered.

“I’m sorry,” he said, breathless but full of remorse. “I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have—”

She lifted a weary hand to press her fingertips to his lips. “Shut it, Gray. It was splendid. You were splendid.”
She thought about it for a moment. “I’m fairly sure I was splendid, as well.”

He laughed damply and pulled her into his embrace. “You were indeed splendid. You were splendidest.”

She sighed happily. “I expect I was.” She snuggled into his arms and lay her head upon his chest. “You’re mine now,” she whispered sleepily.

Just as she faded into exhausted sleep, she thought she heard him murmur in response.

“Always.”

Sophie roused slowly, gradually becoming aware of every throbbing ache in her body. Make that her hard-ridden, hard-walked, hard-loved body. She stretched beneath the covers, sliding her hands over her nakedness, testing her limbs. Nothing seemed permanently damaged. She opened her eyes.

The chamber was dark but for the fire. The room’s grimy shabbiness was hidden in shadow, leaving only the gracious proportions and lovely ornate details to please the eye. With a bit of love and work, such a room could be a work of art—a room fit for a duke.

This duke. Her duke. The one she’d most wanted.

He was awake, looking out the bedchamber window at the moonlit estate outside.

He was naked and beautiful. No renaissance sculptor could have brought forth a finer creation.

“Gray?”

He turned to her with a smile, but the desolation in his eyes alarmed her.